Seas and Sands
by saltycrow
Summary: Before life got in the way, they were happy. Once. Before life got in the way, they were in love. This story is about the before, the beginnings, the first encounters, the lust, and love, they shared.
1. Prologue

AN: Hi, this is a Vane x Eleanor backstory. It's also been posted in AO3 and tumblr under saltycrow. Hope you guys enjoy this!

The very first time Charles Vane laid eyes on her, she was but a girl of thirteen. Eleanor Guthrie. The men around him whispered as a small thing walking their way approached. A blonde little girl she was the first time she walked past him, he standing with his crew just returned from long weeks of blunder. Her walk was determined and un-ladylike to say the least, her hand was holding up her skirts to make her march easier, revealing her stockings in the process but paying absolutely no mind to it. With the free hand she was ripping the pale bonnet from her head. If he had looked away from her, he could have seen Mr. Scott trying to catch the girl, yards behind her. Alas, he did not look away from him, and in a moment he was not the only one watching, for her determined marched slowed and she turned her head to face the pirates whose looks she surely must have felt on her. She looked right to him, for some strange reason, the look was unwavering, unnerved and most of all fearless. The corner of her mouth lifted almost in an involuntary fashion. She nodded her head to them. "Gentlemen," she addressed them, and turned to continue her fast paced stride down the beach. That was their very first encounter, a moment both Charles Vane and Eleanor Guthrie would return from time to time, both to marvel how such a small, almost insignificant rendezvous could have caused all that followed.

Eleanor Guthrie had received the best possible education from the best possible tutors her father had managed to ship to Nassau. She was taught in the arts of music, painting and French. The best possible education indeed, for a woman. Her father paid no mind in getting her a tutor in maths or history. Oh no, those were a waste of time for what would a husband do with a wife who could count? No, what he would want was a pretty song bird who could fill her time with painting the same landscape she could see from her window over and over again until the point of her death. Had Mr. Guthrie known hid daughter at all, he would have known this was not the life his daughter wanted, or was meant, to lead. So it was up to Eleanor herself to fulfill her destination and learn the things no one was going to teach her. She took great pride in it. And as she reached her sixteenth birthday, she put down the books as not all things could be learned from the pages. Some things you had to learn yourself, in practice. One of those things being running the trade in Nassau. It was her fate, her destiny, the thing she was meant to do, and what Eleanor Guthrie set out to do, she meant to achieve. By any means necessary.

Charles Vane on the other hand hadn't had any sort of education in the sense Eleanor Guthrie had. His tutors had been the people trying to put him down since childhood. Those were the people who kept tripping him down, and made him rise up again and again. However much he despised those years in his life, he could not deny the effect they'd had in molding him to be the person he was today, a member of the feared Blackbeard's crew, and his trusted mentee. Pirate's life came easy for him, natural like breathing. Strength and will were the currencies in this world, and he had plenty of those. Somewhere between all the pirating at the seas and trying to fill his needs in the Inn, he found himself in the need to rum, and in the Guthrie Inn. It was overflowing with people, so many men eating and drinking, making a terrible raucous. It was not a place where Charles would have ever thought to have his second encounter with Eleanor Guthrie. Not that he had ever imagined their first encounter being on a beach, yet somehow this one stroke him as something else. It had been three whole years since their first encounter and Charles had not paid it any mind in those years. Yet now that she was here right in front of his eyes again, he could not seem to be able to tear his eyes off her. The contrast to their first encounter was striking. Gone was the proper and fine dress she'd wore that day, and the bonnet she had ripped off. The hair on her head was the same, yet nothing else was. This time it was not a little stubbornly marching girl in front of her, it was a young beautiful woman, with that same determined look on her face as the poured ale for the men, dressed in a more practical attire than Charles had ever seen a lady wearing, not that he had met that many ladies of her social standing. This time she did not look up to him, and like a fly to a light, he walked to the counter, to her.

Working the tavern floor was exhausting work, Eleanor admitted that to even Mr. Scott, but she refused to give it up no matter how much her ward tried to make it so. With her iron will, she got her way. The business of the place meant hard work, but it also meant many people she could observe. Knowing the people in this place was the key to making business here, she knew it.

"There you go, gentlemen," she said and put down the ale for the men on the counter with a pretty smile she had learned by observing the other people manning the bar. The service smile.

"You keep calling people gentlemen when in reality there's not a gentle bone in their body," a deep raspy voice said quietly, clearly meant to only catch her attention. She turned around only to find herself staring into the blue eyes of no other than Charles Vane. He was leaning on the counter, only a foot away from her.

"If one spends money on my establishment, they're all ladies and gentlemen. No matter their standing. All money is equally received here." Eleanor replied. "So what can I get you, Mr. Vane?" The corners of his mouth tugged a bit, searching for a smile.

"Rum," was all he said, no pleasantries for her. She turned to grab the rum and huffed to herself.

"Here you go, _sir,_ " she said with the most forced service smile she could muster, which seemed to amuse him for some reason, but he said nothing, just took his rum, left some coins on the counter and disappeared into the crowd. Eleanor huffed again, for something in that man had managed to get a rise out of her. It wasn't unusual for the customers to be rude and dismissive toward her, yet something about his behavior got under her skin. She tried to force the irritation out of her mind yet it kept nagging on the back of her mind for the rest of the evening. In the early morning hours the tavern was finally starting to clear of people. She sighed of secret relief, envisioning her feather bed and cushions. She took out the broom as her final task of the night to swipe of the sand the patrons brought in with their boots, and only then noticed the corner table was not unoccupied. There he was, with his feet on the table, like he owned the goddamn place, which of course irritated her to no end, for it was she who owned the place. The smoke of the cigar was still thick in the air as the put it out and finally removed his fucking boots from the table, standing up just few feet away from her.

"Have a pleasant evening, Mr. Vane," she said through that fraudulent smile she had been wearing all evening, and had to wear for the one last time tonight, for him. He took a step closer, the smell of smoke and salt invading her nostrils. She swallowed.

"Don't have to wear that smile for me, Ms. Guthrie," he said as if he'd just read her mind. And in a split second it melted away from her face, which oddly enough merited her with a smile from Charles Vane. He was not a man known for smiling, but right then Eleanor truly thought he should be.

"It's Eleanor," she said, for some unknown reason even to herself.

"Charles," he replied and offered his hand, which she took without hesitation. The hand was calloused and hardened with all the work at the sea, and the grip was strong. She tried to match it but could not help but to be aware of her own small dainty hand that was smooth as silk. She was the first to let go, but their fingertips lingered against each other for the shortest of moments.

"Goodnight," he rasped and turned his back on her and walked out. She was left there in the middle of the empty tavern, trying to process the events that had occurred. Even then it had felt significant on some level, but neither of them could fully grasp the significance of those two first encounters at the times they took place. Those meanings would be clear to them much later, when it became obvious to both, perhaps more to the other, that their fates would forever be intertwined.


	2. Chapter 1

To Charles' surprise it did not take three years for the two of them to cross paths again. Well, at least he was surprised that the third time had not happened in the tavern where he frequented and she worked at. Instead, it was down by the docks, at midnight. Sometimes being on land resulted in restless sleep in him, the lack of the lull of the waves disturbed him often, the ocean was what he knew, where he loved to be, it was his home, and these sands did not offer the same feeling of belonging. So it was not an unusual sight to see Charles Vane wandering around the docks when he really should have been in bed. He just needed to see the ocean, hear the waves hitting the shore. The moon was bright and as he laid eyes on her, the pale moon made her hair seem like it was glowing, a halo of sorts around her head. It was the first time he'd seen her locks free, not pinned down on the proper lady's hairdo or the sensible way she had it up working at the tavern. As his boot met the wood of the pier, he knew she could hear him approaching, as the beach was quiet as a grave, the ocean making the only sound. Yet she did not look back to see who it was. He took the steps to reach her, she still did not look up as he stood next to her.

"What's it like, living on a ship, the hunting? I like to imagine I feels like _freedom_ ," she almost whispered the last word. Charles Vane was not a man of many words, but he could not, for some strange reason, stop himself sitting down next to her, and her shoes that were now between them, a barrier of sorts, he felt. He looked at her moonlit face, so pale and flawless. She stared at the sea, like it was the one being asked the question, instead of the man sitting beside her.

"It does," he admitted. For that was exactly what it was to him. Freedom from… so many things he did not even care to think of it. She turned her face to him, the locks of her blonde hair spilling over her shoulder, long enough to cover her breasts. She just looked at him, and for the first time in his life, Charles Vane felt like he should say something, to fill the silence, alas, he did not have to.

"I don't know what it would be like to be free. That was never my purpose," she said with a tone that could be interpreted as sadness, but that fire of determination burning in her eyes, he could not see it as such.

"Then what is your purpose, Eleanor?" he asked and he could see her shiver, from what, he was not sure of, for the sea breeze was still warm.

"To rule this place," she stated. He let out of boisterous laugh. It made her squint with ire. "You think I am not up for it," she demanded, but he shook his head.

"No, you're up for it, alright. Just the idea of a sixteen year old girl telling grown men what to do makes me laugh."  
"It will happen, just wait and see," she swore, and he nodded, for he was not a dishonest man, and looking into her eyes, he had no doubt that one way or another, she would make it so, she would make this place her kingdom, by any means necessary. How long they sat there on the pier, just looking at the waves, he did not know, and he did not care to, for being there with her was like being on ship.

For weeks Eleanor tried to sleep soundly, she tried to will it but she could not, for her thoughts kept returning to that one night by the docks when no other than Charles Vane had walked to her, laughed at her, her plans. It had made her want to scream. He was infuriating. And now he was sailing the deep wide oceans and had left her with this exasperation. It had been weeks now. _Weeks._ How he had left such a mark of her psyche, she did not know, and perhaps didn't even want to know. She kept going through her routine, like nothing was amiss, yet she carried that laughter in her mind, feeling mildly annoyed at all times, except when she remembered the shivers that he had caused just by saying her name, with that voice of his. It made her feel desirable. Those thoughts she tried to force out of her mind and there was no better way to do that than to work around the clock, no matter how much Mr. Scott kept nagging in her ear about it. However there was one obvious downside to working where she did, for the tavern was the first place the returning crews made their way, well sometimes after the Inn… And as she saw Jack Rackham and Anne Bonny walking in, her breath caught as she knew that where those two went, Charles Vane was not far behind. This time was no exception. Just after them, he walked in, with that self-assured way of his to walk into rooms. For a second his eyes searched behind the cloud of smoke from his cigar, and quickly found what they were looking for, her. He kept his eyes fixed on her as he walked up to the counter behind his friends, or crewmates. That man didn't seem to be one for friends.

"Eleanor," was the only thing he said as they reached the counter. The shivers were back, from her scalp to her feet they travelled without her permission. Rackham cleared his throat.

"Surely Miss Guthrie would like to be addressed more formally," he said with an apologetic look on his face.

"We're on first name basis, Jack," he rasped, which warranted a look from Rackham and even Bonny turned to look at him, expressionless, however. Suddenly she wanted to say something to justify him calling her by her Christian name, something, anything, but there was nothing to say. Rackham was correct, she did like to be addressed formally, she liked these people here to show her respect, to show the kind of attitude that would be necessary for her to rule the place. Yet with him, she had offered that name freely, without hesitation, without even a thought, and after the way he acted with her.

"Join us," he more commanded than asked.

"I am working, as you surely can see, Charles," she countered. She did not respond well to commands. Rackham lifted his brow and turned slightly away from the display unfolding in front of him.

"Get someone else to do it, you own this place," he said as if that was the most obvious answer.

"Now that would be unfair toward my employees, don't you think?" she said, pouring rum to the pints, not looking at him. "But I do get off at eleven," she added, however. And answer that made her want to hit her head repeatedly to the counter to smack some sense back into her, for those words had slipped out of her mouth faster than she could have stopped them.

She glanced at him under her lashes, seeing him leaning on the counter with a smirk plastered on his stupid handsome face.

"Eleven." The word almost like a dare. And if anything, Eleanor Guthrie was always up for a challenge.

The minutes ticked by as she worked. Usually working made the days go by faster, now it seemed like the watch she kept glancing had stopped ticking entirely. Bonny, Rackham and Charles had occupied the same corner table where he had sat before, on the second time they met. She kept stealing looks, which she hated to be doing, if for nothing else, but because of the fact that Charles seemed to be looking at her at all times, so he saw her watching. And every time, the small gleeful smile appeared on his face. It made Eleanor want to groan out loud, but it also made her heart beat a bit faster. Finally it was the end of her shift, and suddenly she did not know what to do with herself. What was she even doing? Having drinks with Charles Vane, was she positively insane? Facing the bar counter, and away from the threesome sitting in the corner, she tugged her loose curls behind her ear, breathing in and out heavily. She braced herself, turned around and walked to the pirates.

As she approached, Rackham stood up, as he should with a lady in the presence. Charles Vane was not one for formalities, Eleanor knew, and was not surprised that he did not rise from his seat, but to her surprise pulled out a chair for her, next to him, and poured her a glass of rum. She picked up the glass and downed it, earning her one of those Charles Vane smiles.

"Ms. Guthrie, how nice of you to join us, I'm sure you had an exhausting day," Rackham started, in his polite manner.

"Exhausting, yet rewarding," she said with a polite smiled. "How was hunting?" she asked and Rackham started telling the tale of their hunt, yet soon she got distracted, as she noticed how close Charles' legs were to hers under the table. She turned her eyes to him only to see him already looking at her. Oh he knew exactly what he was doing. But two can play this game, she said to herself, and moved her hand ever so slightly, right next to him so their little fingers grazed against each other. Right in that moment she should have known what she was starting, and perhaps she did, but refused to acknowledge it. For that small touch, the reciprocity from her side was the final straw, as anyone assessing the past would see clearly. After that, all bets were off between them. Anything and everything could happen, and in a way later in their lives, it did. However, now in this moment they had no knowledge of what was to come and they could just sit there both enjoying the thrilling feeling that filled them, that type of feeling that promised good things, or bad, depending on who was looking, as for Jack Rackham seeing the situation unfold right under his eyes, he only saw trouble. Nothing good could come out of a pirate getting involved with a proper little English lady.

"Dear lord," Jack groaned and beside him Anne Bonny nodded.


	3. Chapter 2

That night at the tavern shifted something between them, Charles knew it. That particular evening had ended without further events of note, just polite conversation mainly between Jack and Eleanor, nothing that an outsider would have thought odd, if you did not count the fact that the future Queen of Nassau was sitting with a bunch of pirates. No, no one would have paid attention to it, but that small touch, the small move she made, it did change everything. Now, what would happen after it was a mystery. And it would have to wait for an answer, for the seas called him again and whenever they called he went, even though it was she who filled her mind, the sea suddenly dethroned from his mind, by the queen, no less.

Before Eleanor even noticed, she had been working in the tavern for half a year. She was halfway through her sixteenth year in this life, and as planned, now would be the time to progress in her plan. The tavern had served its purpose, now she was more known to the crews, and she knew things about them she wouldn't have found out any other way. Now it was time to move in to handle the business side with Mr. Scott. And so she did, throwing herself into the work with Mr. Scott, trying to keep _him_ out of her mind, but not succeeding.

Weeks went by and Eleanor realized it was not easy to do business with these men, not that she hadn't expected it to be, but it was a different tale having to actually face it. She had been on the background while Mr. Scott still handled all the interactions. She could feel that these men her father was in business with responded to authority, and she did not have established, yet. But soon she would have it, she would find a way, there was always way, she knew it.

She would be lying to herself if she said she hadn't been waiting for him, wondering when he'd come by, where they would meet. All these things she thought to be silly, but she could not help herself. So, it was not a surprise when he came with Teach to her and Mr. Scott. They stood behind one captain selling his cargo and discussing money with her warden. She should have been paying attention to the transaction, however her eyes were fixed on his. He looked rugged, with a fresh cut on his arm. There had been a fight then. Stupid. People should know to surrender by now. If Eleanor had been paying attention to the captain and not Charles, she might have seen this coming, but she did not, and was completely caught off guard.

"And you, fucking bitch, you can tell your father to go fuck himself!" he shouted so that Eleanor could see spit flying out of his mouth. He turned around before Eleanor could shout right back at him, but suddenly Charles was blocking the man's path, his chest to his.

"Want to call her that again?" he asked seriously. The captain's stature was far larger than Charles', yet it was the captain that backed down a bit, saying nothing and walking away from the situation. She looked at Charles, fuming, and turned her back to him and left. She knew she shouldn't have, no professional let her own emotions get in to the way of commerce, but she couldn't control herself at that moment, and filled with fury, she walked away, leaving Charles behind, who was also fuming.

After hard weeks at the sea, with a hunt that had gone less than good, Charles had been glad to be back in Nassau. Seeing her perhaps being the reason he was most glad to be back. Yet the situation that had unfolded as they set eyes upon each other once again had turned him sour. What the fuck was wrong with that girl? he asked himself, cursing aloud. Walking away from him like that. _Fuck._ He had no fucking clue what the hell had happened there, other than he had finally come back and she had walked away from him, so yes, he was mad, angry and frustrated, since this was not what he had been waiting for. He did not exactly know what he had wanted to happen once he got back, but her running away from him for no apparent reason was definitely not it. Fuck it, he thought and popped open the cork on the wine.

When dusk set upon Nassau, Eleanor felt her anger had somewhat cooled down along with the temperature outside. What exactly drew her back on that beach, she was not sure. Perhaps on some level she had waited for the encounter, which would soon unfold, to take place. As she set foot on the sands, darkness had engulfed the world, only the moon and stars lighting her way. She kicked off her shoes and went to stand on the wet sand where the wave occasionally touched her feet.

"Eleanor," his voice called. This unscheduled encounter still someone felt like it was one, both of them showing up at the same time, and for the same reason.

"Charles," she addressed him and turned to face him.

"What the fuck was that?" he questioned, straight to the point, taking a step closer.

"What the fuck was that, you ask! That's what I should be asking!" she was almost shouting, throwing her hands in the air.

"I won't play any games with you, Eleanor," his calm yet angry voice made her stop.

"Fine. You undermined me, alright? I will not have any respect, any authority in this place, if I cannot put people who cross me back to their place, by myself."

"He was insulting you." Eleanor pressed her palms against her face in frustration.

"Yes he was, and I should have dealt with it, not you. I am woman trying to run this place, do you have any idea how little respect they already have for me, and now I can't even defend myself, but get some man to do it for me? Don't you get it Charles, I need to be strong, and I need them to take me seriously." The angry look in his face turned into one of realization, almost.

"How can such a small little thing defend herself from grown ass men?" he asked, his voice serious, but a small playful smile playing on his lips.

"Fuck you, Charles," she said and before she knew what she was doing she was grabbing his shirt, pulling him to her and aggressively pressing her lips against his. He took no time to respond to this new situation, his hand came down to her waist pulling her even closer, pressing chest against chest, her breasts squished between their bodies. Eleanor had done this once before, and last time she had been twelve years old, and it was nothing like this one happening right now, yet she did not hesitate. She opened up her mouth letting her tongue meet his. Kissing him felt so natural and electrifying. Her body was on fire. He tasted like the sea. His stubble scratched her cheek, but it only made her feel more turned on. In fact, she was getting so hot and bothered, her nether regions throbbing, that she did not know how far she'd gone had he not pulled back a bit, resting his forehead against hers. Both breathed deeply, a bit out of breath.

"I thought you were mad at me," he rasped, his hand tucking one lost curl back behind her ear.

"I am. You're a fucking ass, Charles Vane." He threw his head back laughing, still holding her close.

"I never told you I wasn't. You see is what you get." She smirked.

"Oh I intend on coming to collect that offer." Had her father or Mr. Scott been here now they'd been so scandalized that it made her laugh. Charles took her chin between his finger and turned her head up to look into his eyes.

"Counting on it." His lips met hers, once again, but this one was not like the first, this was sweet, chaste and short. Nothing like she'd ever expected from Charles Vane.

It was only natural that the kiss, as their first meeting, should happen on that beach. It would be the middle ground for so many years. The sea was his, the island hers. The beach however, it was theirs. It was only fitting they'd first share a kiss on the same sands they had first laid eyes upon each other. The waves crashed on their feet, neither caring, for nothing was more important to them at that moment than being exactly where they were, in each other's arms. For the first time their embrace offered refuge, for when they touched, it was just she and him, them. Nothing that came before seemed to matter. No words or annoyance, no quarrel, those things were secondary and easily melted away by their touch. But as fate would dictate it, the refuge would always be short lived. In each other's arms they were one, outside it, they were doomed for a life of disagreement. But for two people such as Charles Vane and Eleanor Guthrie, they did not know of a life of peace and quiet, and even if they did, they would not have wanted it. These two were meant to lead life in a fashion where emotions ran high, love, and hate both. It would be walking on a very thin line, tipping over to each in turn. And they would not have exchanged that life for anything, for how could one see the highs of life if you did not see the lows.


	4. Chapter 3

Charles had not expected this to be his life, he had never in his life even imagined a situation where he had finally achieved his freedom, and had now voluntarily put himself into this situation. For being trapped in a terrible storm in the seas and still having no room for anything else in his head than the thought of her face with that little smile on her lips surely did not fall into the category of freedom. His mind was like a prisoner to her. It baffled him, he could not reason the situation. One moment she'd been some girl, then before he noticed, she was everything. How that had come to be did not make any sense to him, they had shared a quarrel and a kiss and that was all it took. He did not want this, or had not wanted this. But in this moment when he was desperately trying to help the sail up, it was her who stayed with him in that moment. It terrified him. For this to be only the beginning, what would come to be between them would surely be more than this. But him being terrified seemed not to stop him. It did not stop him for yearning to see her again, hold her, to be engulfed in her presence, for it was intoxicating. If he'd survive this storm, he'd see her again and at that moment nothing could have made him happier.

She had heard that Teach's crew had been hit by a storm. That was this morning. She had yet to see him. It made her anxious. And she did not know how she felt about feeling like that. Eleanor had a deeply complicated relationship with her feelings. She wanted not to care, not to feel this persisting need to see him and know he was alright. But she could not chase that feeling away. It stuck with her till late afternoon, at which point she could no longer ignore it. She let the pen fall down on the paper, the ink leaving a nasty stain, with a splatter making its way to her hand. She brushed her hair aside and did what she had to, walking down to where she'd most likely find him. When she got to the beach full of tents set up for the crews, she realized she had no idea how to actually find him. Thankfully Jack Rackham appeared seemingly out of thin air.

"Have you seen Charles?" she asked, rather rudely, but thankfully he did not seem to mind.

"Yes, he's lying down for a bit. Do you want me to take you to him, Ms. Guthrie?"

"If you'd be so kind," she replied, a sudden feeling of relief filling her as now she at least knew he was alive. Jack led her to the tent and vanished. She took a deep breath and knocked on the beam holding up the tent structure.

"Fuck off, Jack," a groggy voice from inside groaned. It brought a small smile on her face. She took that as an invitation to walk in.

"I'm not Jack," she said, taking him in. He was on the bed, legs and arms spread, and a massive bruise on his forehead. Other than that he seemed to be fine.

"You are definitely not Jack," he admitted.

"Still want me to fuck off?" she asked, taking a tentative step closer to him.

"Fuck no," he said and silently looked at her.

"What happened there?" she asked, and pointed to his head. He groaned.

"Slipped, fell down, on my head. A concussion." He made a gesture to wave it off, like it was nothing. But watching him on the bottom of his bed, hurt, and clearly in some sort of discomfort, it made her look at him differently. He was not just some pirate she had conflicted feelings about, well he was all that, but he was also someone she did not want to be alone, not when he was hurt and perhaps even when he was not.

"Want me to stay with you?" He looked at her, as if he was hesitating, about what, she did not know.

"Yes," was what he finally said and shifted his position a bit. A clear invitation for her to come next to him. It was her time to hesitate, but she sat down on his bed, and finally laying down, on her side, her head on his pillow and looking at him. It was the strangest moment, possible even the strangest moment in her entire life. She was in bed with a pirate, but not in the biblical sense. They were both so quiet, as if something solemn was happening, and perhaps it was. There was no need for words. All she needed was to be right there with him, knowing he was going to be fine.

It was also what he needed. Her beside him. Charles was not a man to show vulnerability, but Eleanor being there, was something he had never experienced. Never in his life had someone stayed with him when he was not feeling well, never had anyone cared enough to be there. She came, however. To see him, and she stayed. For hours. He kept slipping to sleep, but she kept keeping him awake. "You shouldn't fall asleep. Not with a concussion." How she knew that, he did not know, and he did not ask. It was hard to stay focused. He turned to his side, so he was looking straight into her eyes. A lock of blonde hair had once again escaped. He reached to tug it behind her ear, his fingers lingering against her cheek. She brought her own hand to touch his and took hold of it, guiding their intertwined hands on the space between them. Had he been of his right mind he might have laughed. Charles Vane, in bed with a girl, holding hands. Positively absurd. Or perhaps he wouldn't have laughed. For her hand felt like something he never wanted to let go. Despite her best efforts to keep him awake, the night snuck up on them and they both closed their eyes, just for the moment, only to open them to meet the new morning.

Eleanor did not wake up with a jolt, nor did she wake up to a feeling that she was out of place, in some place strange. No, she woke up well rested and feeling oddly… happy. For a moment she basked in that feeling, until of course she realized she was still in the bed of none other than Charles Vane. She looked at the man beside her, only to find him already awake and looking at her. His hand reached to stroke her face. Her eyes wandered from his eyes to his lips. But before she could turn thoughts into actions, a too familiar voice called her.

"Eleanor!" a man shouted seconds before the canvas door of the tent was pushed aside and Mr. Scott's angry face entered the tent.

"Ms. Guthrie, get out of this place this second," he said calmly, yet anger bubbling under the surface. His eyes roamed over the place, setting on Charles, who did not seem phased. But when was the man ever phased. Eleanor however felt a little redness rising on her cheeks. She didn't want to feel embarrassment, she wasn't doing anything wrong. And when Eleanor was made to feel something she did not want to, she was determined to take control of the situation, in her own way.

"Could you please wait outside for a moment, Mr. Scott?" she more commanded than asked in her most proper and authoritative voice. She could see Mr. Scott's nostrils flare a little, but he did as she asked. She knew this was not the last she'd hear about this, but right there she needed to assert her dominance to gain control of her feelings. She rose to a seated position in his bed, getting ready to leave and face Mr. Scott once again, but suddenly she turned to him, crawled closer and planted her lips to his. He was still lying on his back, yet he wrapped his hand behind her neck and pulled her closer to meet the kiss fully. The kiss was short, but the little devious smile on his lips after she broke it was making her blush again, this time for a different reason. She got up, giving him a final look, and finally facing her warden, with stubble burn still felt upon her cheek and the taste of his lips still on her tongue. She braced for the inevitable talk of propriety, but she did not care, for if anything that felt even nearly as good as being with him felt, then she did not care how improper it was.

It was the first of many talks about propriety that Eleanor had to hear from Mr. Scott. He was a pirate, he said. A man below your station. And men only ever wanted one thing, surely she knew that. Please do not do this, Eleanor. All of it was true. He was indeed a pirate, and yes her social standing certainly was much higher than his. And for what came to that one thing men wanted… well she wanted it too, so how could he fault a man for wanting it. Yes, she was fully aware what Mr. Scott meant with that. The implied 'he'll just use you and cast you away' was hanging in the air, unsaid. Of that she did not know if it was true. Would he cast her away? What would change? Would anything? For the better or for the worse? But there was no way of knowing, and it was nothing she could not figure out, in time.

Eleanor had left him in his bed, with the taste of her on his lips, her smell lingering round him. He groaned, for he did not know what to make of this feeling. This feeling of needing her here, of the urge to tell Mr. Scott to go fuck himself and leave her here with him, because it was clear as day to him it was where she belonged. The day crawled by, his groggy feeling easing. What was going to happen now, he did not know. Would she be coming back? The night fell without a sight of her. He made his way by the fire, to Anne and Jack, in search of rum naturally. It was getting so late he had given up on thinking she'd be coming back. He didn't blame her. But the light footsteps on the sand behind him proved him wrong. She reach him, gently placing her hand on his shoulder as he was sitting by the fire. If he had been looking anywhere else than her beautiful face, he might have seen Jack and Anne exchanging a look of worry. But had he seen it, he wouldn't have cared. He took her hand and pulled her down next to him, unable to make himself let go of that hand.

"Rum?" Jack asked, and without an answer poured her a glass, which she took delightedly.

"Got an earful from Mr. Scott?" Charles asked her, the rum never failing to make him more talkative. She huffed and downed the rum, and grabbed the bottle to fill it again.

"Indeed I did. Apparently you are a pirate, how could you have failed to tell me, Charles?" she said with an eye roll. He laughed at her exasperation. "And, wait for it, apparently men want only one thing. Shocking news, isn't it," she said, her voice dripping sarcasm.

"Well that's where he is wrong. Men want three things. Money, women and alcohol," he said, wrapping his arm around her waist and simultaneously emptying his cup. It made her throw back her head and let out a merry laugh. It brought a smile on his lips.

"Seems like you got it all, then," she said more quietly, giving him a look that he was not sure what he was supposed to do with. Well, he did know what he would have normally done, but something made him decide against it. Instead he poured her more drink.

Before long the rum had gone to her head. Everything around her was fun, and Charles Vane was the most hilarious man in the existence. Not to mention the most handsome. The dawn was getting closer and closer, but she was having the time of her life. Until he decided to pull her up.

"You've had enough. Bed. Now," he announced. She pouted in her drunken haze. He somehow managed to drag her to the tent, he body refusing to cooperate. As he let her down on the bed a giggle escaped her mouth as the world seemed to be spinning around her.

"I bet this is what it feels to live on a ship," she laughed. He emerged right next to her on the bed. She inched closer and kissed him, letting her hands roam around his body, feeling his hard muscles all around his body. She moaned against his lips and with one hand started to pull up his shirt. Then he pulled his lips away from hers.

"You're fucking shitfaced, Eleanor," was what he said, with a frustrated groan.

"And?" she challenged.

"Go to sleep." He turned his back on her and she let out a frustrated groan of her own. But Eleanor indeed was very drunk, and before long, she fell asleep next to Charles Vane for the second time out of the hundred times that were yet to come. The next morning she would wake up with a terrible headache. He would laugh at her, mock her goodheartedly and tell her to go vomit outside of his living quarters. An advice she took. He would lean against the beam propping up his tent, and look at her throwing her guts up right next to him and think 'she's something else'. The warm feeling inside him spreading made absolutely no sense to him, especially as he was looking at this girl in the most unflattering situation. Yet it was how he felt. And would be feeling for a very long time.


	5. Chapter Four

Their relationship was evolving into something Eleanor could not explain. She wanted nothing more than to spend time with him. Either he came to her, to the tavern, or she'd sneak out to his camp. The drunken night spent with him, however, seemed to hold her back. She had been so forward with him, and he'd told her to go back to bed. She knew it shouldn't bother her, she had been awfully drunk and it had been the right thing to do, after all. But she could not shake the feeling of rejection. So, days passed and she did not make the move again. Instead she found herself walking with him around the island. It was where she grew up after all, and she was filled with an unfamiliar urge to show him where she'd come from. During those walks, she told him minor details of her childhood, things that had made her smile, a humming bird spotted in that bush or hours spent hiding in that tree from Mr. Scott. He offered little in exchange, and she did not push him. She suspected his childhood had been so very different from hers. And they did seem so very different in every aspect of their lives. Yet she felt a belonging with him that she had never felt with anyone. They both were ambitious people. They were stubborn, relentless, fearless. They were like the two sides of the same coin. At that time Eleanor could not see how their similarities and differences respectively would ultimately lead them to where they would end up, in two different sides of the same war. Yet even then, if someone would have told that to her, she would not have had trouble believing it. She would have resented the notion, but she was a girl with excellent observation skills, and what would become of this thing of theirs, she even in the cusps of happiness always knew on some level that she and Charles were not people who were supposed to lead long lives full of happiness. In that way, they were all too similar.

If Charles had ever envisioned being in any sort of relationship with a woman, it had not been like this. Never in his wildest dreams had he thought himself to be capable of waiting. Yes, there had been that drunken attempt days before, which he had turned down, but that was not what he was thinking about. No, it was the fact that he wasn't even trying. He was not trying to sleep with her. Why? He found himself asking in his mind as her fingers roamed in his hair, and on his chest. It would have been the smallest of moves that would have led these situations to another. But he did not make that move, for some unfathomable reason. Instead he found himself in a situation where she showed him Nassau through her eyes, letting him closer in a completely different way. He was getting to know her. He remained tight lipped, but those walks with Eleanor, they were something he could not put into words. Someone else however could have easily noted that what Charles Vane was doing, was falling in love. He indeed was falling in love with Eleanor Guthrie, and not just the public figure she put forth, but her, the real Eleanor. And she shared that with him willingly, which only made him fall so much faster. Had someone ever said this to his face, he would have thrown a punch, so it was fortunate no one was stupid enough to do that. For it would be one of the most memorable moments in his life when he finally pieced it all together and admitted to himself he was indeed in love with her.

"Would you ever take me hunting?" she asked with a mischievous glint in her eye. They were drinking at the tavern, oblivious to the people surrounding them. It was just the two of them, sitting at their table, unable to look away from each other. Charles put down his glass and gave her a long look.

"What do you think? Fuck no."

"Oh come on, Charles. I would make an excellent pirate, don't you think." She was tipsy, he knew, and he just shook his head.

"You'd make a terrible pirate." She pouted. "You couldn't follow instructions to save your life. Too stubborn."

"I resent that. I would make an amazing captain," she declared. He laughed heartily.

"You have to be on the crew before you can make captain." She downed her rum.

"Fine, I give you that. I wouldn't want some man bossing me around anyway." He reach over to her, wrapped his hand around the scarf that she had tied around her neck, and tugged it, pulling her closer to him over the table.

"Is that so?" She stared at him stubbornly.

"Yes," she claimed, but embracing the rough kiss that followed. Perhaps she should have cared about people seeing, but right then, she did not. He was too good.

Someone had built a bonfire at the beach. In celebration of someone's whatever the fuck it was called pagan holiday. Charles didn't give a shit. But he did give a shit that the blonde fucking angel was right there next to him, drunkenly dancing to the music that the people on the beach were playing. Her eyes were a bit glassed, and the bottle in her hand was about to drop any second. Any second now, but Charles was not the kind of man who'd let good rum go to waste. He took hold of her arm and gently removed the bottle from her hand.

"Anyone ever told you that you drink too much?" he asked, earning a look of annoyance from her. He liked that look, getting under her skin was just one of those things he couldn't help but to do. She looked so beautiful when she was frustrated.

"Fuck you, Charles," she said and matched his position, grabbing hold of his arm.

"And that you swear too much?" That earned him a sloppy drunken kiss. She hummed against his lips and roamed her hand up his chest, between their bodies.

"And that you have questionable morals?" She kissed him again, this time with more accuracy.

"That's why you like me, Charles," she grinned. He pulled her closer. God was she right about that one. For if he hadn't liked her, then he would have never in a million years tortured himself with her presence without even trying to get her to his bed. Well, he did get her to his bed, but that's where it ended. Fuck. What was becoming of his life?

After that bonfire by the beach, he left, back to the seas, back to hunting, and she was left all alone on that island. It did not matter how many people she had around her, she still felt alone, for he was not there. When had he came to be this person to her? The one that without him, she felt alone, in a state of stagnation. Two weeks went by. Two fucking weeks that were torture to Eleanor. Her work seemed to be sloppy, no matter how long she tried to make it right. It was him, haunting her mind, refusing to let her be. She didn't know what all this was going to be, or what it was, even now. All she knew was that he was starting to distract her. And she had to do something about that. Eleanor was a very solution oriented person. And the only solution that she could think of, was to get him out of her system.

She did not go to him. She knew he was home, back in Nassau. She sat in the tavern, playing with the empty glass in her hands, and waiting. She tugged her shirt, trying to fix the wrinkles formed on it throughout the day. Why are you doing that, she asked herself in frustration. Charles Vane was not a man who cared if her shirt was wrinkled or not. It was her decision that made her fidget. And she was not a person who got nervous. She never got nervous. She poured herself another glass. This was not how she wanted to go about this. Not at all. Eleanor Guthrie liked business transactions, but not all things should be conducted like them. And this was definitely one of those things. So after all that waiting, she decided to go to him after all, she couldn't stand the wait any longer. Half way down to the beach, she spotted his figure, walking toward her. Eleanor fought the urge to run to meet him. It had been two weeks for god's sake, it wasn't like he was returning from a goddamn war. So she walked, reaching him, trying to act nonchalantly, but he trampled on those plans as he reach to her waist and lifted her to meet his lips. There in the middle of the streets of Nassau, he was holding her in the air, their bodies crushed together, kissing her like he was a man starving. The taste of him assaulted her senses, the sea and the smoke, now finally back with her, playing on her tongue. She sighed into the kiss, the most intense wave of pleasure washing over her. After a moment that simultaneously felt like the shortest of seconds, yet like the longest of forever, he set her down, but did not let go of her. He rested his forehead against hers, his hand caressing her face.

"Hi," she breathed.

"Hey," he answered. All those feelings she'd had while sitting at the bar melted away in his presence. With him, how could she still feel all those things? However, as good as his embrace felt, she still had plans to put forth. She untangled their embrace and took his hand, leading him to the tavern. The place was silent, emptied of all people. The few candles lighting their way.

"A drink?" she asked him, but he shook his head and pushed her against the counter, attacking her mouth with his. She responded with a passion to match his. She tried to pull him closer to her body, but it was physically impossible to be any closer to him. She pushed him back, seeing the hunger in his eyes. If she had seen hers, she would have seen a matching hunger there.

"Come upstairs with me," she almost whispered. He lifted his brow but said nothing, just took her lead and followed her to the room upstairs. It was pitch black and she frantically searched for a match, finally lighting the sole candle on the dresser by the door. He stepped in to the room, and in his trail, she closed the door. It closed with a sound of finality. He was watching her standing by the door, waiting for her to do something, anything. The nerves had vanished, and as boldly as only Eleanor Guthrie was capable of, she started undoing the hooks on her leather corset. He swallowed. The corset hit the floor and she walked to him, her hands tugging the hem of his shirt. He pulled it off without further instruction.

"You can touch me, Charles," she whispered, wanting his hands all over her. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, his eyes asking her if she was sure, and she nodded. He did not need to be told twice. She had unleashed something in him. He undid her shirt, letting it fall on the floor, next came the skirt. In the faint light of the candle, his eyes roamed over every inch of her naked body, making her shiver. Never in her life had she felt more wanted, more in power, just more everything. She reached to undo his breeches, but he suddenly turned them around, and pushed her on the bed. She would never forget that look he was giving her. It was so full of things she could not even name. Adoration, lust, want, need, and something else. He pushed his breeches down, and suddenly he was there, his hands roaming all around her body, on her breasts and making their way lower and lower. A small gasps escaped her lips. His touch was pure ecstasy. And nothing like she had expected it to be, it was something so much more. A wave of pleasure washed over her, and finally he was right there, where she had wanted him to be for so long. His eyes would not leave hers as he moved. Her hands scratching his back, which was already covered in scars. The grunts and gasps were the only sound in that dimly lit room. In the height of his ecstasy, he finally collapsed on her, placing a trail of kisses down her jawbone.

He rolled off her, still not letting her go, his hand caressing up and down on her unclothed body. She turned his head to meet his eyes.

"I thought it was supposed to hurt," she said, contemplating.

"Doesn't have to hurt," he said with a kiss. She smiled. Her plan of get him out of her system long forgotten.

That night, the night Eleanor Guthrie lost her virginity to Charles Vane, was one of those moments that could easily be pointed out as one of the most important turning points in their lives. For Eleanor Guthrie it was the point of no turning back. After that night, she had to acknowledge that this thing with him, it was not just some fling, it was something more, something so much more. As she was lying there in his embrace, she had to admit it to herself, that this was out of her control. And for the first time in her life, she did not want to be in control of it, for nothing could be better than that feeling in her chest when he looked at her as if she was the only person on this earth. Not even her need of control.

For Charles Vane, it was one step toward making the final admission to himself, that he was in love with her, and that it was the kind of love, that would never ever leave you. That moment irrevocably set them on the path of loving each other forever. No matter what life would throw in their way, this moment in her bed could not be undone. Those feelings could never be erased. No matter how much they would despise each other, they'd still always have this moment right there, in each other's arms.

AN: I hope you guys liked this one. I did not want to go into too much detail in the last scene because Eleanor is still underage and I just do not feel comfortable writing a more detailed description because of that. But yeah, hope you liked this, comments would be much appreciated :)


	6. Chapter 5

AN: Thank you guys for the follows and reviews! Man I love reviews, so I'd be so happy if you'd like to leave one for this chapter :)

His camp bed became their sanctuary. She would be there by his side, on top of him, under him. Everywhere. She would burst in to the tent, like it was hers, she would attack his mouth with her lips and push him down on the bed. And he would let her, every time. He would not deny her of anything. She deserved every second of pleasure, and Charles had tentatively started thinking that perhaps he deserved it too, but it was still something he'd never say out loud. For who would ever believe him, if he declared he deserved this girl next to him, naked as on her birthday, tracing the burn mark on his chest. She had been in habit of touching his scars, her fingers trailing the scars on his body. If it had been anyone else, any other woman in his bed trying to do that, he would have surely kicked her out of bed. Alas, it was Eleanor Guthrie. And his body was hers.

"This one was made with a purpose," she mumbled, perhaps more to herself than to him. He found himself nodding. She angled her head up on his chest to see his face.

"It was done when I was a child. I don't like talking about it," he said. She nodded. If she was disappointed that he had not shared more, she did not show it. But it was too much for him to share. Even with her. He hated to even have these memories inside in mind, and he did not want them to be in hers as well.

"When my mother was gone, I felt for the first time like I was alone in this world," Eleanor says suddenly. She tells him about her mother, the smile on her face every time she saw her daughter, having so much love and affection to her. And then she had perished, and her father had all but disappeared from her life. She was alone. And she learned to be strong. Why she told him this, he did not know. But he was grateful she did. For every piece of information she shared with him, he ate up and locked away in that special place in his mind reserved only for her. Peace. That was what these moments were for them. Just the two of them, the outside world somewhere outside this little bubble of theirs. And for as long as they managed to stay in there, nothing would get to them, and everything would be just perfect.

For a few months they seemed to be treading water, being in that one place, as if time has stopped moving around them. Eleanor cherished that time then, and would become to cherish even more in the years yet to come, when that tranquility would only be a memory of something that felt like a dream. Even when she was still living it, it had had this dreamlike quality. It did not feel entirely true, that she would be spending every free second she allowed herself to be spent with him. And those moments were all passion, raw or gentle, or something in between. They were also very quiet moments. The real world did not seem to penetrate into their space, and she barely even heard the noises from outside. It was in fact the quietest period in Eleanor's life. And truth be told, she could not have taken it for much longer than it lasted, but for those moments that it did last, her loved every single one of them.

Charles did love change, but honestly, he had been fine in that bed with her. It was her who grew bored. One day she busted into his tent once again, sat down on his bed, put her palms against her face and groaned. Charles might have asked what was wrong, but by now he knew her well enough. It was redundant to ask, as she would soon tell him anyway. So he put on a fresh shirt on and waited for her to tell him what was bothering her. She let her body fall onto his bed and she stared at the roof.

"I'm sick of these canvas walls," she muttered. He said nothing, for he would have been lying if he had agreed. She turned to her stomach to look at him. She propped her chin on her hands, her legs kicking in the air casually, the skirts pooling down to her knees, revealing her pale legs.

"I want an adventure," she said and lifted her brows in a suggestive manner.

"I'm all ears." She pushed herself to a seated position, looking at him mischievously.

"Let's do it outside," she finally said and he erupted into laughter. He laughed and laughed, almost unable to make it stop. She sighed and patiently waited him to stop. "Come on Charles, let's walk out of town, I can't stand these walls anymore." And if that was her wish, then who was he to tell her it was a fucking horrible idea and that it would most likely result in insects biting her ass and bark scratching her back and making it raw. So he humored her, and let her lead him out of the town.

They were reaching the edge of the jungle, she ahead of him, frantically looking for a place private enough.

"You know, for a girl who wants to be an exhibitionist, you're awfully concerned if anyone's gonna see us," he noted. She turned around and kept walking backward.

"I wanted change, not some pervert watching us fucking -" her sentence suddenly cut short and she disappeared from his sight. She screamed in fright and in pain. He took a couple of running steps to see what the fuck had happened, only to find her on her ass in a fucking hole in the ground. She was there on the bottom of it, her skirts dirty and this baffled look on her face.

"What the fuck!" she screamed, still sitting in that fucking hole, an unfilled hunting trap, most likely. For a second he just stared at this sight in front of his eyes with a straight face, but then he could not handle it anymore. He threw his head back and laughed. Eleanor Guthrie, fallen into a fucking hole in the ground because she had tried to be risqué and fuck him outside.

"What the fuck Charles, stop laughing! Get me out of this fucking hole, shit!" she cursed, which made him laugh even harder. She in the hole, him on the edge of it, laughing at this absurdity. It was the unlikeliest of moments for such a huge revelation, but we do not get to dictate how these things happen. For that was the moment when Charles Vane suddenly quit laughing and looked at that girl in the hole, who was frustrated and trying to climb her way out of the situation. That was the moment when he realized he was in love with her. He was in love with this girl who would not let something as trivial as her bodily capability get in the way of getting what she wanted. For she climbed out of that hole, on her own. It was like someone had dropped a hammer on his head, knocking him down with this realization. He was in love. And she was cursing him for not helping. And that made him love her even more. How could he not have seen it earlier, he wondered. For now that she was there, trying to get the dirt off of her, it was plain as day to him. He loved her. And it fucking terrified him. It made him scared to death. Yet he embraced every second that was yet to come.

That was the end of their peace and quiet, their tranquil. But it was the start of something more. For he loved her, he knew. She still refused to admit it, even to herself, but the admission of his own feelings to himself, it shifted the mood in Charles, and it was contagious. His hands were rarely kept to himself. For how could he have ever been without the feel of her under his fingers, when she was right there in his reach?

Jack Rackham always minded his own business. Well that was not true, it was in fact a complete lie, but he did try to mind his own business. But minding his own business was made harder by his friend and no other than Ms. Guthrie screaming outside his tent.

"Fuck you, Charles!" Naturally Jack crawled out of his tent to see the scene unfolding before him. They both had matching furious faces on.

"What the fuck is your problem?" he questioned her.

"You, you are my problem, Charles!" she screamed, more people turning up to witness the scene unfolding in the camp. "You can't just fucking grope me in front of people, in front of Mr. Scott!" She was about to turn away from him, but his hand snatched hold of her wrist, tugging it and turning her back to face her.

"Don't you fucking walk away from me, Eleanor," he cursed. She put on a defiant face and looked slightly up to meet his eyes. Then his lips were on hers in a very aggressive kiss. She seemed to be responding for a second before she pushed his chest to get rid of him.

"You're the most egotistical jerk I have ever met in all my fucking life!" He grinned.

"You want me," he stated, like it was the most obvious thing in this life

"Shut the fuck up," was what she said, yet suddenly she was the one wrapping her arms around his neck and planting her lips on his in an equally aggressive kiss as he had just moments before. Jack groaned. As stated before, he tried not to mind people's business, but he couldn't help it. Not when it was his crewmate and best friend involved in this romance that was undisputedly the way to his demise. He would have to look at this unfolding from the sidelines. The two of them were a disaster waiting to happen. One moment they could not take their eyes off each other, then the other they would scream and shout about something and then the next would be like they were now, in this angry love/hate situation that he certainly did not want to be seeing. Some people whistled at the couple, but it do not make them pull apart. Anne appeared by Jack's side.

"Fuck," was all she said.

"Indeed. We're going to be in deep shit with these two." Anne nodded. And how right he had been, he thought as he looked back to those days years ago. He hadn't wanted to be right, but he was, he was so damn right.


	7. Chapter 6

AN: In the light of 309 I felt I should make it clear that this fic will be ignoring that episode as canon. So any allusions made to the tragic future they are going to have made in this fic, do not refer to what happened last episode. Basically how I intend to write this fic is that s3 did not happen. That yes, how they ended was tragic, but I refuse to accept anything that happened in 309 as canon, so the tragic quality I am alluding to comes from the ending I imagined for them, which for me was that they never could resolve the issues between them, and that they never got back together, but in my mind, they still loved each other to the bitter end.

tl;dr 309 did not happen in my fic canon

Eleanor naturally had no idea of the effect that failed adventure would have on their relationship. He would remain tight lipped about the feelings he'd finally admitted to himself. In the hindsight it was for the best, for had Eleanor known then, things might have been a lot different. She was the type of person who required time and distance to process her feelings and to make her decisions based on those ponderings. Had Charles told her he loved her before she was in the same place, she might have backtracked, and had she done that, a whole lot of the future yet to come would be changed. It would take Eleanor more time than for Charles to reach the same conclusion, but she would get there, oh she most definitely would.

Her seventeenth birthday came. It had been almost a year. A year with him in some way. Surely they hadn't been then like they were now, but she counted those tentative first steps. She wanted to, for those were some of the memories most sharply drawn to her memory. She was not one for celebrations, and for the business, she would have hated to highlight the fact that she was indeed still a girl, not a woman grown. For her it made no difference of course, but Eleanor knew appearances were everything. So she had banned any sort of party, any sort of special treatment on her day of birth. Mr. Scott had reluctantly agreed, but had still broken those rules by surprising her with her favorite breakfast. It warmed her heart. Even though she had ordered him not to make anything special, it felt very good to know there were people who wanted to make her feel good, and Mr. Scott truly was her only family. It was he who had basically raised her, and that she truly appreciated.

She banished those sentimental thoughts from her mind and got to work. No day special to her would ever stop the trade in Nassau, and when there was trading to be done, that was what she would do. She tried to focus her thoughts on what was right in front of her, but she could not help but to feel a bit sadness about the fact that Charles was not on the island. He'd been away and she wasn't expecting him back anytime soon. She felt that longing, and she resented it a bit. But she was after all a girl of seventeen, and that romantic part of her had yet to be taken over by the cynical side, that years later would have eclipsed those parts that she now allowed to roam somewhat free. She had no reason not to. His arms were her escape, her hideaway. He was the harbor she would long to be in after a long day at the sea. He was so many things, but now he was not here, and it saddened her.

Had she been able to see down to the docks from her office, the feelings of sadness would have been cast aside from her chest, as Charles Vane hopped on the shallow waters of the beach, the water seeping through his boots. But he did not care, for he was home, and nothing more in this place was home than she.

The door of her office opened, without a knock. She lifted her head, about to protest on the unannounced entry. But it was him, in all his glory, wet, with a shirt covered in blood splatters, and the smell of the sea with him. She was on her feet in the shortest of moments, making her way to him. He met her half way, his arms finding their rightful place around her waist, his lips on hers. She hummed with pleasure against his lips, finally finding some sort of peace. The irony of finding peace in a man like Charles Vane did not escape her, but she did not care. He was here and her mind was finally quieted. Well, it soon would be quieted more thoroughly, in her bed, but this was also an improvement. But the call of his body was impossible to resist, and who on their right mind would have resisted him.

She would be his anywhere, on every furniture, on every surface. And she was, for there was no time for beds, there was no time for comfort. There was only time for him to be as close to her as he physically could be. The wall would do for her, for as long as it was he who is there inside her, his hand on her mouth to prevent the moans escaping her mouth and alerting anyone passing by the office. It did not take long until she felt like biting down on his palm to quiet the cry of pleasure. He had that smile on his face, that one particular smile he'd been giving her, in times like these when he was still inside her, but on other occasions as well. When he walks into her office and stops to look at her working. When he thinks she is asleep by his side. When she curses at him. That smile was suddenly everywhere, and it was a smile Eleanor hoped would never leave her. She needed it with her until the end of time. And she prayed to keep it.

Charles' feelings were a mess, to be fair. The days spent on the ship were something that he loved, but those were also the days he was not with her, and any day he was not with her, it felt a day wasted. He loves her. He is so fucking in love with her it is ridiculous. He is so fucking in love with her that he knows without asking her it is her birthday. He is so fucking in love with her that he got something for her. _He is so fucking in love with her._ It felt like it is burning a hole in his pocket and he was fucking nervous. He was nervous she was not gonna like it. He seated her down on her desk and sat behind her, fumbling his pocket before he fished it out, placing it on her palm. She studied it for a second and lifts it to eye level. It was a silver locket. It has been amongst the cargo for the ship they were hunting for, and when he had seen it, he had felt it should be around her neck. Something stolen for the queen of thieves.

"It's beautiful, Charles. But why?" she asked as she opened the locket, only to find the most fucking sentimental thing he had ever done in all his years on this forsaken earth. It was a pressed blue violet inside the locket. He fucking pressed a flower for her. _What the fuck Charles._

She studied it carefully, still waiting for his answer.

"It's your birthday," he simply stated and she turned to look at him with the widest smile on her face. She closed the locket carefully, handing it to him and brushing her hair over her shoulder, asking him to fasten the locket around her neck. The locket fell on place between her breasts and she brought a hand to touch it ever so gently.

"How did you know?" she asked and placed her hand on top of his.

"Might have asked Mr. Scott about it," he mumbled. God, how is this his life. She giggled and tried to hide it by placing her hand on her mouth, but it was too late now. He got up from her desk, he couldn't take this anymore. He was so engulfed in her he was losing himself. He just could not lay out the cards on the table and be laughed at. So he left.

"Charles, where are you going?" she questioned, but he was already out the door. He did not realize she had been walking behind him all the way to the camp, not until she walked into his tent in his trail. He turned around to see a puzzled look on her face.

"Why did you leave?" she asked in this tiny voice that made his heart break into million little pieces.

"You thought it was stupid," he stated, trying not to look at her, but it is an awful attempt, for he could never keep his eyes cast away from her when she was in the room.

"No, I did not. I love it. I told everyone no party, and no gifts, nothing. But then you bring me this and I just love it. And the fact that you asked Mr. Scott. Yes, I laughed, but only because at that moment I thought about the fact that if I ever told anyone on Nassau that no other than Charles Vane had went out of his way to get a girl something nice for her birthday, no one would believe me. But I get to see it. And it makes me feel lucky," she breathed, and he realized that this was probably the most she had ever disclosed her feelings toward him. So he did what any sane man would do and kissed the breath out of her. Kissed her because he loved her, and he made her feel lucky. He truly was the lucky one.

The night has fallen and Charles was sound asleep right next to her, his hand placed across her bare midriff. The waves crashing the shore and his breathing were the only sounds in her world right then. Right then she touched the locket, the only thing she was wearing, and looked at the man dead to the world lying next to her. Suddenly she was overcome with emotion and she sobbed, quietly not to wake him up. The tears rolled down her cheeks and she cried for the first time in years. And it was not for sadness, it was not for pain. No, these tears were because of him. Because she was in love with him and she did not know what to make of it, other than to cry, because those feelings of loved crashed over her like waves on the shore, trying to drown her. So she cried quietly while he slept, trying to pull ashore from the storm that was her feelings toward him. It was a storm she would try to battle for years, only to find that the only way to feel like she was breathing was to give into the waves and just… love him.


	8. Chapter 7

AN: As you might have noticed, I have marked this story now to have ten parts. So after this chapter there is only one more chapter to go, and then the epilogue. I've written it all, but it still needs editing, but I should have all that there is to this fic up here by the end of the week. So yeah, hope you guys like this.

After Eleanor had realized she loved Charles Vane, she lived in a constant state of confusion. Everything about it confused her, firstly, she never thought feeling like she felt toward him was possible. Secondly, she did not know what to do with it. There was the constant tightness in her chest that made her feel like she was bursting with something. She would have said with happiness, but that did not exactly describe it. It was this want, no, this need, of his presence. It was this constant nagging thought of him in the back of her mind. It was the feeling of falling, she felt it in the pit of her stomach. Perhaps that's why they called it falling in love, for that was how she felt every time she saw him, like falling from great heights. And then came the question of what she should do with this feeling, how should she go about it? She just did not know. The words played on her lips, but she could not find the way to say them. And when those words finally came into being, it was no surprise to anyone that it would take place on the beach, their feet on the sand, with the sea washing over them.

They came from their respective dwellings, he from the camp on the beach, she from the tavern, each finding their feet touching the sands at the same time. To Charles the sight of her in the moon light would never cease to be this sense of wonder. The halo he'd seen the moon make with her hair on one of their very first encounters would keep reappearing every time they met like this. He knew her well enough to know she was no angel in the traditional sense, but to him, she was something close to one. Yes, he knew her now, with all her faults and insecurities, but Charles could never not feel like there was something divine in her.

"Let's take a swim," she suggested with a crooked grin and was already tearing the clothes off of her body. He followed suit. Naked as the day they were born, they ran to the sea. He caught her and wrapped his arms around her waist, throwing her under water. She came up cursing him, and trying her damn hardest to get him under, with no luck. She tried to trip him, but he embraced her, holding her against him, her attempts soon forgotten as he kissed her. Soon she abandoned him, however, and swam around in the moonlight and he swam with her. Everything was so calm, just them in grasp of the sea. Finally she pulled herself out of the sea and stood on the sands, the sea washing over her legs. She was wet and bathed in the moonlight, truly looking like something out of this world. And he couldn't not join her.

She held out her arm for him to grasp and led him back on ground. She looked into his eyes with this awe and bewilderment that he had never seen in her eyes. He brought a hand to brush the wet locks away from her face. She opened her mouth, as if to say something, but she just breathed. He let his hand trail her side, making her shiver.

"I uh-," she started and took a deep wavering breath. He had never seen her like this. She looked unsure, and even a bit scared. Eleanor Guthrie was never scared.

"I love you, Charles. No, I am _in love with you,_ " she finally said and now it was him at loss, not being able to find the words, any words, for her words had been like a punch to the gut, all air escaping his lungs. With a few simple words she had him at the palm of her hand, but she still had that scared look on her face and he never wanted to see that look again, not fucking ever.

"Say something for fucks sake," she cried out. And of course he laughed, making her look mortified and try to take a step away from him. He kept hold of her though, not letting her run away. He would never look at her walking away from him if he had something to say about it.

"I've been in love with you since the day you fell to that fucking hole, woman. Fuck, maybe even sooner. So that's what I have to say. Good enough for you?" he asked and that terrified look melted away and got replaced by a far more familiar sight of irritation on her face as she pushed his chest.

"You're such an ass, Charles, god. I fucking tell you I love you and you fucking laugh at me."

"No, you don't just love me, you're in love with me," he said with the widest grin on his face and kissed her, for he was in love with her, and she was in love with him, and this was about as good as life could get.

"You're still a jerk, no matter how much I love you," she reminded him as they broke away from the kiss.

"As are you, my love." She groaned.

"Don't call me that," she warned. And in that beach, with their feet covered in sand and the water washing them clean, they sealed their love with a kiss. They would indeed not be saying it often, for they were people who liked to show it, rather than to tell. Nor would Charles be calling her by any pet names, unless he of course wanted to get a rise out of her, which he sometimes did. In that moment, they were just happy. Happy to be alive, in this place, with each other. Happy and in love.

Yet, even at the height of their happiness, they were still Eleanor Guthrie and Charles Vane. They were not even people by any means. They were like a storm, always looming on the horizon that sometimes would hit ashore, but when exactly that would happen, no one could be sure of. During these few years, the storm would stay in the distant horizon more often than not, for they were still young, and love and happiness were more easily achieved, and when we say easily, it would not have been that by anyone else's standards. No, to anyone else watching, it would have seemed like a constant uphill battle.

And that is most definitely how it looked like to Mr. Scott. He had been made to watch this situation unfold for almost a full year. At first he had tried to trample it down, to talk sense to the girl, to make her see how truly terrible this all was. But he should have known that forbidding that girl from doing anything just made her want to do it even more. The presence of Charles Vane was too much of a temptation for her, and no matter what Mr. Scott tried to tell her, it was of no use. And he was afraid, of what would become of this, and that feeling grew day by day, with every second he had to see them together. The feeling grew strongest on this particular day, when Charles Vane was shouting outside the tavern under her window.

"Eleanor, open that fucking door and let me in," he cursed outside, at six o'clock in the morning, barely dressed. Nothing happened and he picked up a stone and threw it against the closed window.

"I won't fucking leave until you talk to me," he threatened, making Mr. Scott feel like he should intervene in this, but before he could, she was standing at the window, clearly just woken up.

"Get out of here, Charles," she said with ire in her voice.

"You know I won't fucking go anywhere until you stop acting like a fucking brat and come see me," he said with a look of determination on his face. She wore a matching expression. To on onlooker like Mr. Scott, it was a bit scary to notice how much like each other these two were. It was like an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object.

"You're the asshole here, Charles," she hissed. He laughed and shook his head.

"Not a fucking chance you're going to flip this around on me," he countered. "I can spend my time with anyone I like and you don't get to act like a fucking asshole about it," he said and Mr. Scott could almost see steam rising out of Eleanor's ears.

"She was clearly trying to fuck you," she said in an angry whisper, trying not to let others around them hear, but anyone in the vicinity of them was sure to have heard it anyhow.

"And did I fuck her?"

"How the hell am I supposed to know!" she yelled, all thoughts concerning the public hearing long forsaken.

"Well if you hadn't ran home like you did then maybe you'd have known I fucking did not. And you should fucking know I'd never do it anyway," he said, with a slightly hurt expression. And what happened next was truly what shocked Mr. Scott. For him, Eleanor had been an impossible child, listening to no one if she ever had a thought in her head that she believed correct. She trusted no one but herself, listened to no one, and just stood behind this stonewall that separated her from other people. That was the way she had been for as long as he had known her, but now as he looked at that young woman at the window, her expression changed and filled with something that seemed to vaguely resemble guilt. Something Mr. Scott never remembered seeing on her.

"Come up," she muttered and turned away from the window no doubt to go let him in. That was the first time Mr. Scott saw her to bend for anyone. He would not see her doing it many times, in fact during his life time, he could have counted the times on one hand, and yet they had all been for Charles Vane. And this terrified him. For Eleanor could not stay bent for long. No matter how she tried, compromise was not in her nature. When she would finally realize how his presence truly affected her, it would be ugly. Mr. Scott hoped he'd never have to see it, but he knew it was inevitable. Sooner or later, the storm would hit ashore, and it would turn out to be a hurricane, destroying everyone and everything on its path.


	9. Chapter 8

Being still was neither of their natural state. In fact they both resented it. The sea would always call him away from her, no matter how much he loved her, and she had her ambitions that kept her moving forward, pushing and never stopping. Stillness would be their death but so would movement. In another life, in one that would not have casted them the slots they had been given, things might have been different. But this life they had had never promised them anything good, and anything they wanted, they had to take with force. What bound them together would ultimately tear them apart and that, now, that truly was their greatest tragedy.

But tragedy is not what those two had in mind during those years they spent together. No, this story, their story was not tragic. No, it was passionate, explosive and all those things in between. It was the few years of bliss to counter the countless years of plaguing loneliness. Alas, those years were coming, but they were not there yet, they were not in the bed between those two. Their warm bed was all that represented their years of bliss, but to them it was also stillness.

Eleanor found she was never at home until she was with him. There was something about loving a person, something about transferring a part of yourself to them, and never feeling entirely complete when they were not there. Charles became that person to her and he would be that person till the end of time. She would never have uttered the word, but in the deepest corners of her mind, she thought of the word soulmates. And that truly was the only word to describe them. They were the definition of that tale in which people had been created in twos and later severed, and then made to look for their soulmate, only feeling complete when they found that person. Because for Eleanor, whenever he was not with her, it felt like an open wound, something that would miraculously heal if he appeared by her side. And she loved him, oh she loved him so much, but she also loved Nassau and she felt the need to make it hers, truly hers. And perhaps it was a coincidence that she and Charles' interests were intertwined. Possibly for the last time in their lives. What she needed was power, power over this place that she had failed to achieve completely. She still lacked the authority, the hint of fear in men's voices when they talked of her. And ruling this place simply could not be done without it. And that is how the stillness came to a halt, by her ambition that she saw benefitting both of them. It was truly the only way, the only possible choice she could have made. It was not one of those things she would ever come to regret, no, she would regret a lot of things, but this was not one of them.

They were in his bed, like they always were, and she rested her head on his chest, like she always did. But instead of their idle talk of things that interested them, she opened her mouth to make a suggestion.

"You should be captain, Charles," she whispered to his chest, almost as if speaking to his heart. He was stunned into silence and she lifted her head and took a seated position to see the look on his face.

"You deserve it, you would make a better captain than Teach has ever been," she said to him, already seeing that image of him as captain in her brain. Such a vivid image it was, that had she believed in anything supernatural she might have thought she willed it into existence. And perhaps somehow she did.

"Eleanor," he started, his voice full of doubt and dismissal but she refused to listen to his protests and she painted him her vision. Nassau without Teach, her at the head of the trade, and him, with his own crew, his own ship. It was everything they wanted. And how she painted it, it became reality to him as well. He would make an excellent captain, he knew. He had longed for it so long, but something had been holding him back, perhaps it was the thought that he would somehow be betraying Teach. And with her plan, he truly would. Of course he did not agree straight away, but she made the thought grow in his head, she fed it, for weeks, until it grew so large it was impossible not to let it seep out of his brain. Someone might have said she had tricked him into it after it was finally done, but who ever said that, did not know Charles Vane. No matter what she would have told him to do, he would have never ever done it unless he saw something in it, something that made sense. And yes, he hated this plan on so many levels, but there was the beauty of logic behind it. The beauty of them both achieving goals they had both been working towards. It was truly the only possible thing to do.

And so it was done. The plan of a seventeen year old girl had knocked a seasoned pirate off his throne. And Nassau was in awe. She climbed on that throne, with all this power in her hands, more than she knew what to do with. From that moment the pirates had no choice but to respect her, give her the authority she was entitled to. It was she they focused on during that take down, but it was Charles whose life seemed most effected. Gone was his mentor, the man who truly showed him what the sea had to offer. But as he stood on the deck of the Ranger, barking orders to his crew, he truly felt this was where he belonged. There was no doubt in his mind about it. And just like Eleanor, he did not feel regret for doing it, not once. But he did feel a tug of guilt as he watched Teach leave and never come back. It was the first time the two of them combined their minds in an effort to achieve something, and it worked perfectly, it truly was a thing of beauty.

Had everything in their lives worked like this particular event worked out, they would have been invincible. But alas, their ambitions would rarely line up with each other, in fact they would most often go strictly against each other. But in the aftermath of banishing Teach, they were invincible, for a year. Three-hundred-and-sixty-five days of bliss is what they had. And for the amount of pain those two would have had to endure, it was truly a time worth focusing on.

That bliss would manifest itself in the form of their passion burning brighter than it ever had before. It was the sort of passion that would make her abandon her work on a whim and run to see him, to push him on his bed and taking her pleasure. It was the kind of passion that would make him lie awake on the Ranger, unable to sleep in the place he had never had trouble sleeping in. It was the sort of passion that she felt like screaming when she had to watch him go. It was the sort of passion he had a scarf of hers with him wherever he went, just to have the smell of her with him.

In the aftermath of their success they were on the top of the world. It truly was the very best time in both of their lives. And those best moments deserve to be seen, they deserve to be lifted up from the shadows of all the bad moments. For beginnings truly are more intriguing than endings. The world was theirs and they were each other's world. There was nothing more to it.

The most memorable moments of that year of bliss were memories that would never be erased from their minds. They were the type of things that would always bring smiles on their faces when they thought of them, and isn't that what life is about, really? Looking back at your life and thinking how great things were. And for them, things truly were great. Had either of them been really religious, they might have thought that they had been blessed by god. But they were not religious people, however, they did know how to squeeze everything out of those good moments, for there was always that looming thought in the back of their minds that all that was good might be yanked away in a blink of an eye.

The morning sun woke her, warming her naked flesh. It was one of those mornings when you wake up feeling happy and like nothing could go wrong that day. It was his presence as always, just the feel of him right there next to her, it made her smile. She turned to find him already wake. He was always awake before she was. He did not sleep much, that much she had learned of him. And he was a light sleeper, usually. He smiled at her and took her reaching hand to his and brought it to his lips, kissing it ever so lightly. It was those kinds of things he did that made her almost lose her mind, for it was still beyond her comprehension she had a man like him with her, loving her.

To him those moments were the most treasured ones. He liked watching her sleep. She was so peaceful, nothing was bothering her, the frown so often found on her face eased and she seemed happy. And the mornings of her waking up with the sun, her finding his face immediately, and if she could not find it where she expected, the look of distress in her eyes, which would ease when she found him. She might have seemed like a person who was independent and did not need people around her, but he knew better. She hated being alone, and what she feared most was people leaving her. It was clear as day on her face whenever he got on the Ranger and sailed away. She hated every second of it, and his homecoming was always an event that would require him to clear his schedule for the day. She wanted him all to herself, wanted to feel his hands again, to just feel his presence. And he did not mind. Something about the fact that he was needed and wanted just made him feel better than he had ever felt in his life. So he would disregard any other plans, for her. There was not much he wouldn't have done for her.

This was one of those mornings, when he had arrived to the port with his recently acquired cargo around midday, and she was there waiting for him. She had snatched him for herself, and together they spent a night full of worshipping each other's bodies. And this was the morning after, where she was in bed, spent yet content. It was the best kind of day.

"I missed you," she said with sleep still weighing her voice. He gently stroke her cheek and smiled. It was not often he would get to hear that from her. And he cherished all of the times he did get to hear it.

"And I fucking couldn't sleep without you," he said, making a similar smile surface on her lips.

"I'm hungry," she groaned and got up from the bed. She walked around his tent in search of her clothes, finding a garment here and there, giving him a very fine view of her backside.

"Stop ogling at me," she said without looking at him. He shifted his position and reached to slap her ass. She was predictable in her reactions, turning around to face him, allowing him to wrap his fingers around her wrist and yank her on top of him. He pressed kisses from her jaw and making his way down between her breasts. Small moans escaped her mouth. It was that type of moans he had long before come to recognize as a request to keep going and never stop until she was finished. So that's what he did, lifting her up to switch their positions and trailing those kisses so far down that the small moans turned into loud cries of pleasure.

"I fucking love that," she sighed, her breathing still heavy, her eyes sleepy.

"I know you do," he agreed. She turned to look at him with a grin on her face.

"And I know what you will love," she said with the wickedest look. Breakfast had long been forgotten, but who could ever feel hungry when you had the chance to make love to the person you loved the most.

And as they lay there, nothing could have hurt them. For the only person who could do that was lying right next to them, and in that moment, they couldn't have dremed of hurting each other.

"I love you, Eleanor," he whispered.

"I love you too," she answered. And that was all that was needed. Love could not right all the wrongs they would do, but right then, it was everything they needed.

That was what their days of bliss were like. Not all of them for sure, but what really mattered was them in the same place, in the same state of mind, just loving each other. All they needed then was just each other, the presence of the love of their lives. They were soulmates, finally united. What would follow would not be beautiful, it would be the ugliest of ugly. But Charles Vane and Eleanor were people who knew, there was no way of recognizing beauty if you did not see the ugliness. There was no way recognizing love if you knew no hatred. And it was no coincidence that they were both those things to each other. That was what they were like. There was no denying it. But it was a fact that they loved each other. But sometimes love is not enough, but there is no fault in that. For they still would always have that love. And as they lay in the bed, their bodies tangled with each other, that was what they had. Love.


	10. Epilogue

AN: Thanks for everyone who has been reading this, and a special thanks to those who reviewed. I hope you'd share your thought about this fic with me, reviews are so precious to me. But yeah, hope you enjoyed this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it.

From the very beginning, both Eleanor Guthrie and Charles Vane knew that whatever they would share, would not last forever. From the moment he ever laid eyes upon her on that beach, with that determined stride, with that fearless look, he knew she'd never be one for standing still. No, she would never submit to his will, she'd never be anyone's wife. And that is why he was fated to love her so much. No woman he would ever come to love could be anything less than she was. He could not love a woman who would do as he told her to, or who lived to please him. What he loved about her was what he also hated about her. It was that stubborn mind of hers, that fearlessness, that relentless pursuit of things. Without all those things, he could have never had loved him, but without those things she would have never casted him aside. That was his tragic paradox of loving her. He could not help but to love her, even after all the things she did. She lived forever with him, for that sort of connection they had shared, it could not be erased by anything, and not anyone, not even her.

Letting him go was like gnawing her arm off with her own bare teeth. That was how much it hurt her. Yet it was what she had to when she realized what was happening, how much he was holding her back. And she loved him, she loved him so much, but she would never love him enough to let go of the person she was. And the person she was could not live with the thoughts that entered her head. She was like this island, and he was like the sea, surrounding her, always with her, a thing she would not exist without. But the sea, it could drown her any minute. It would take her under and she would never resurface, it would drown her. That's what loving him was. It was battling the feeling of wanting to drown, but also wanting to save herself at the same time. That was her tragic paradox of loving him.

Life has the habit of throwing us around as it wishes, and it threw the two of them farther apart than either ever imagined. But it was not important where they ended up. No, what was meaningful, was what had been. For no one can erase the past. It was three years for them, three years of being with each other, loving each other and being able to show it. The love, it would never die, but the ability to show it did. Their beginning was what mattered. Their beginning was what they could have been forever if life had not been like it was. To them, life did not offer them the chance to be what they could have been, but it did give them the moment of love, and that was the most important thing. There were the first moments, their first encounters, and their first feelings of love. And nothing that would happen after those moments could make the first encounters any less significant, any less meaningful. The only truth that stayed in their lives was the love they shared with each other. It was tangible, it lived in their memories, it lived within them. And it would forever live on the island of Nassau, on its beaches, in the water surrounding it. It was the type of love that would forever be engraved to the living memory of that place. They both might have lost their lives, but the love, that still lived on the sands, in the sea. And that is why beginnings are much more significant than the endings. Eleanor Guthrie and Charles Vane were in love. That is what should be remembered, for nothing in this world could have taken that away from them, even if everything else had been.


End file.
